


Hum Hallelujah

by inanatticinnovember



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Music, Sad, brand new - Freeform, the bouncing souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-24
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2018-02-10 05:28:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2012730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inanatticinnovember/pseuds/inanatticinnovember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian goes through Mickey's iPod.</p><p>To all of my lovely Italian readers, shamelesme.tumblr.com has translated this story into Italian right here: http://efpfanfic.net/viewstory.php?sid=2766228 if anyone is interested!!!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hum Hallelujah

“Well this looks promising,” Ian mumbles sarcastically as he presses his thumb against the screen of Mickey’s stolen iPod. The song begins to play loud and obnoxious and he was right, it isn’t promising at all.

Mickey smiles stupidly as they listen to Greg Attonito yell  _“Know your enemy!”_ obnoxiously into the air.

The two of them are laying side by side on Mickey’s roof, their legs stretched out in front of them, shoulders touching as Ian goes through Mickey’s iPod happily. They’re passing a cigarette back and forth and the blue air is cold on the layer of sweat they each have on their foreheads. Nothing bothers them. It feels like dancing but without movement.

“Shut your shit mouth, The Bouncing Souls are kickass,” Mickey mumbles around the cigarette. He stops to blow smoke in Ian’s direction. Ian swats at him and begins to scroll through the Artists again, the song still playing in the background as he looks for something that isn’t shitty punk music. The song playing is a short one and Ian is yet to find a new song when the next one on the album begins.

_“If I had money I’d buy a new BMX!”_

“Fuck,” Mickey mumbles and he feels like he’s been punched in the gut. “Change the song.” 

“What?”

“Who are you, Helen fucking Keller? I said change the damn song, Gallagher.”

Mickey is squirming beside him. Ian looks down at the iPod. It’s a stupid song; the guy singing literally just wants to buy a BMX Bike and do shitty tricks on it and Ian doesn’t understand until Mickey is snatching the iPod out of his hand and hitting the little pause button before angrily throwing the device down on the shingles beside him.

“What was that about?” Ian asks.

“None of your business, Nancy Drew.”

“You really like referencing History’s most influential women, don’t you?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Ian laughs and they’re quiet for a moment.

“No but really, what’s wrong with that song?” Ian asks again, and he can feel Mickey tensing up beside him.

“Why don’t you shove your head up your ass, I bet your colon will know the answer to your shit questions.” Mickey flicks the cigarette.

_“Mickey.”_

“What, you think I’m joking?”

“I think you’re avoiding my questions ‘cause you’re embarrassed.”

“You a fucking shrink now?”

“Tell me what’s up with you and I’ll give you an ol’ blow if you know what I mean.”

Mickey snorts, unamused. “You can’t use the same goddamned move on me twice, Ian.”

Last time he’d said he’d blow him, he literally just blew air into Mickey’s face.

“C’mon Mick, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

Mickey shakes his head and Ian flops back down on his back with a huff. The silence stretches on and Ian guesses Mickey had it right. It feels like their souls are bouncing.

After a while Mickey lets out a weary breath.

“The song reminds me of you, alright?”

Ian turns his head to look at Mickey, whom of which is staring straight forward at the moon, his arms behind his head.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” Mickey mumbles. He can remember now, headphones stuck in his ears when he had to work construction for his dad, listening to that fucking song over and over again and thinking of Ian’s stupid green eyes. It doesn’t even make sense, the song isn’t meaningful. It’s shit. Just a dumb song. But it reminds him of Ian and that’s what counts. “Used to put it on repeat.”

“Why?”

“You were gone a lot,” Mickey says and he quickly tacks a  “dumbass.” to the end of that sentence so Ian doesn’t think he’s some sort of pansy.

They’re quiet for another minute and the air is still cold. Mickey is dragging on the cigarette, scratching his arm nervously, feeling raw. Ian takes a moment before he’s digging into his pocket, producing a phone.

He doesn’t say anything until the first notes of a guitar are playing.

“It’s called  _‘The Boy That Blocked His Own Shot’_ ,” he says, holding his phone up for Mickey to listen. Now it’s Ian’s turn to not look at Mickey because he’s aware of the fact that Mickey knows this is the song Ian listened to when he missed the shit out of Mickey.

The guy starts singing and Mickey stops moving, the two of them like starry corpses on the rooftop, quietly listening to the song. Mickey chews hard on the inside of his lip, trying not to let his chest swell up too much. He feels like a balloon destined to pop and the wind is blowing their hair around and making goosebumps pop up all over their skin.

_“You are calm and reposed_

_Let your beauty unfold_

_Pale white, like the skin stretched over your bones.”_

Ian starts singing then, his voice soft as he mumbles every goddamned word. Mickey can’t stop looking at his petal lips moving to the sound and his damned eyelashes pressing against his freckles every time he blinks.

_“Spring keeps you ever close_

_You are second-hand smoke_

_You are so fragile and thin, standing trial for your sins_

_Holding on to yourself the best you can.”_

Mickey knows Ian’s talking to him, knows these words are for his ears and that Ian means every single one of them and it fucking hurts. It hurts a hell of a lot more than he thought possible. 

_“You are the smell before rain_

_You are the blood in my veins.”_

Mickey feels something prick at the back of his eyes and he looks heavenward again, bringing his cigarette quickly to his lips as Ian mutters the last words.

_“Call me a safe bet, I’m betting I’m not_

_I’m glad that you can forgive, only hoping as time goes, you can forget.”_

The song ends.

They lay there quietly, both of them looking at the round weary moon and Mickey isn’t counting the stars anymore. Every time he tries his eyes sting a little and he has to rub roughly at them.

Their souls aren’t bouncing anymore.

“The fucks that supposed to mean?” Mickey asks abruptly.

“What?”

“The smell before rain shit— that doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

Ian thought for a moment. “I read somewhere that the word for the smell before rain is something like ‘ _petrichor’_ ,. It;s based on the Greek word petra which means stone and Ichor. And that’s the stuff that flows through the veins of the Greek gods.” Ian looks over at Mickey finally. “The guy’s talking about this girl that is so special he feels holy around her.”

“That’s fuckin’ cheesey,” Mickey mumbles, still dragging on his nearly burnt out cigarette.

“Yeah,” Ian nods, but there’s something behind the conversation; this knowledge that’s laced between their words. Mickey  _knows_  and Ian knows that he knows, but neither of them are saying it. “I think I want it tattooed.”

“Don’t,” Mickey mumbles abruptly.

“Why not?”

“Fucking fruity,” he says but he wants to say  _because it’ll remind you of me and I don’t want to put you through that kind of hell_.

“It’s better than having Fuck U-Up across my knuckles.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

They lull for a moment but the two of them still feel numb, not wanting to admit how much they miss the other sometimes, not wanting to admit how much their fingertips burn with the need to meet the other’s skin.

Ian moves his hand over a little so his hand is resting over Mickey’s. It feels like he’s holding him down somehow, anchoring him there so he doesn’t float away like the moon. Mickey doesn’t know why, but he lets Ian hold him.

**Author's Note:**

> Ian's song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j0naRFSK2hQ  
> Mickey's song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IypLNouT36M


End file.
